Young at Heart
by toocoolforyou
Summary: Fred and George talk about old age, life after the war against Voldemort, and sticking together. Oneshot with death themes at the end.


K, this is the first fanfic I've written, it's just a oneshot conversation between Fred and George sometime in the sixth book.

Anyway, enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the setting, just this conversation.

* * *

George thought that there was nothing more beautiful than sitting on the balcony of his shared flat and just watching the people on the street below, talking, laughing, living. He liked living. That was the point of life, wasn't it? Not to be rich or known or worshipped, just to live, to be comfortable in yourself, to enjoy the people around you. He turned to his brother, who was sitting on the deck chair next to him.

"Hey Fred,"

"Mmm?" Fred turned to face him.

"Do you reckon we'll still be identical when we're old?" he asked.

"Sure, why wouldn't we?"

"I dunno, I just don't reckon my wrinkles will be particularly fussy about matching yours."

Fred smiled, "Old is a long way a way."

"It'll happen some day." George replied.

"Not in spirit, my friend, and anyway, my charming red locks will remain eternally red and charming."

George faked a loud cough that sounded suspiciously like 'vain!', and Fred swatted him over the head in retaliation. "You only say that because you know that of the two of us, I am startlingly more handsome," he said.

"You're making it worse for yourself, mate," George grinned at his twin.

"The point is," said Fred, "Even if we do end up looking like ginger prunes, we stay forever young inside, right?"

"Definitely. Wreak havoc in the old peoples home. Graffiti up the walls in permanent ink and start an elderly bikie gang." They both laughed at the prospect.

"Do you reckon there's a market for a senior's Skiving Snackbox?" asked Fred.

"Of course! 'For an even quicker way to get help across a road, collapse with an incredible nosebleed!'" said George as though he was selling them.

"We guarantee you get a helping hand within 30 seconds, or your money back!" said Fred, as the two sniggered at their own joke. Their sniggers turned into giggles, which turned into a fit of laughter, neither sure of what was so funny anymore, simply enjoying the wave of happiness that they were on.

"We'll stay together, though?" said Fred, as their laughter died down, "We'll do this shop thing for however long, then just do whatever, you'll marry Angie and I'll marry Kate and we'll have our own families and grow old and stuff, but we'll stick together, yeah?"

"Getting sentimental here, aren't we Freddie?" George teased.

"Oh shut up!" said Fred, smiling, "You know what I mean!"

"I get it, don't worry. Of course we'll stick by each other. You're my other half. We go down, we go down together."

"Yeah…" Fred drifted away to his own thoughts, staring out onto the street without really looking, his eyes slightly out of focus. "Oh my god!" He said suddenly, snapping back to the conversation, "Imagine our gravestones if we die on the same day! That'd be the epitome of awesome!"

"'Fred and George Weasley, born 1 April 1978, died 8 October 2068.' Brilliant."

"Why that date?"

"I dunno. First one to come into my head." George said.

"You know what I think? I reckon at our funeral, we should be cremated. And everyone should be forced to sing 'Burn, Baby, Burn' while they dance around our flaming coffins."

"Mum'd spin in her grave."

"Whatever, she'll live." Fred looked at George and the corner of their mouths twitched as they realised the irony of his statement.

"No laughing," said George mock-seriously, "That wasn't remotely funny."

"Too late, Georgie," said Fred, laughing.

George pretended to be about to hit Fred over the head with an imaginary club, his face contorting so that he looked ridiculous.

"Help!" Fred screamed, "I'm being attacked by a one eared psychopath!" They laughed as George sat down again, sighing deeply. "I reckon you'd give You Know Who a run for his money if you keep that up, George."

"I dunno, Fred, I think my nose hasn't quite got the flatness that is required of a manic serial killer."

"Fingers crossed we win this, yeah?" said Fred, his voice a little more serious.

"Yeah, fingers crossed." There was a silence. "Do you reckon we'll have to fight him and the Death Eaters, eventually?" George asked.

Fred nodded. "I know we will, no choice really. It's the only way he's going to go down, I think. I'm just scared about… well, you know, people are dying all over the place, and I can't help wondering if it's someone we love next."

The two of them were mellow, realising the duties that inevitably awaited them.

"I want to fight," said George, "I want to fight, but I don't want to die."

"You won't die, Georgie," said Fred, "I'll have your back, always."

"If I do, though, well, I'm still your twin, k? We're still Fred and George, and we'll always be that, right?" George was shaking, and Fred could tell that he was scared, more scared than he'd ever been.

"'Course we are. We will be. Forever."

* * *

George was standing at a grave, at a grave he'd never thought he'd see, never thought he'd have to face. He wasn't crying. He didn't think he had enough of him left to cry. He just stared, with his mouth slightly open, holding the flowers he'd bought limply in his left hand. He spoke, words coming out of his mouth without him forcing them; they came out of their own accord.

"Fred."

"Please wait for me."

"The flowers are red. Like your hair. Your eternally red hair."

"I love you, and I miss you."

"I miss you so much."

* * *

And that is it! Review it if you want, I want feedback on my writing!

Thanks for reading!


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